


Drowning in Dreams

by Dach



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Barduil - Freeform, Barduil Mini Bang, Business AU, But only a little, Confusion, Disassociation, Dreams, Eventual Fluff, Flashbacks, Fluff, M/M, Memories, Modern AU, Reincarnation AU, a lot of fluff, sort of, the bardlings, this is fluffy as heck in the end i warned you, tilda is a sweetheart, what is a timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 22:09:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11217246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dach/pseuds/Dach
Summary: Now, if these goddamn dreams would just leave himalone, that would be great.~*~All his life, Bard has been plagued by visions similar to flashbacks and similar to dreams. In the visions (or are they hallucinations? Bard isn’t sure of the correct terminology, but he knows that they can’t possibly be memory) he is with an elf. An elvenking that he loves with all his heart and one that he is positive that he’s never met before. That aside, the visions all take place in some… made-up world. So he’s probably just delusional. Bard brushes the visions aside as best he can. They have no purpose, after all, aside from distracting Bard from reality. But then, what if the visions aren’t fake?





	Drowning in Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> This is my work for the Barduil Mini Bang (hosted by bereniceofdale) and I hope that you enjoy!

_“Elbereth?”_

_Thranduil ‘hmm'd noncommittally. “Yes. Lady of the Stars, remember?”_

_Bard’s laughed quietly, the sound fading quickly in the grassy clearing. “Of course! It’s just… it’s kind of hard getting used to this, you know?”_

_“I know,” Thranduil rolled on his side, admiring Bard’s rugged profile against the dark grass. “As someone raised without the influence of the Valar, I can imagine it would be quite confusing.”_

_Bard nodded, his gaze not wavering from the starry sky. “Definitely. But it’s a little… reassuring? Yeah, that’s the word. I mean, I grew up while Laketown was still in the works. The only allusion to any celestial intent was the fact that we were still alive. We only began to believe in the Valar when… you know.”_

_Thranduil laughed lightly. “Is that your way of saying ‘we didn’t believe until Aulë appeared at the crowning ceremony after the battle’?”_

_Bard smiled and tore his gaze away from the stars, rolling on his side and planting a kiss underneath the elf’s jaw. He grinned into the elvenking’s warm skin as Thranduil gasped in mock-indignanty. “Pretty much.”_

_They lay in silence for a few more moments. Then Bard yawned, widely and loudly. Thranduil chuckled and moved into a crouch, hauling Bard to his feet._

_“C’mon. Legolas will miss us, should we dally too long.”_

_Bard became aware of his predicament while he was already half on his feet and he scrambled for a few moments, trying to help Thranduil. Eventually, he was standing- not thanks to his ‘assistance’ in any way- and Bard smiled sheepishly, thanking any holy deity ever to live for the fact that the darkness of night concealed his blush. “Thanks.”_

_Thranduil hummed and wrapped his arm around Bard’s waist, leading him across grass painted silver by moonlight. Bard slipped an arm of his own around the elvenking’s waist. They walked in silence and eventually entered the forest and the hushed calm enforced by the dappled light enveloping them._

 

Bard woke with the most undignified snort imaginable and he flailed for a few seconds, sending paperwork everywhere and somehow managing to undo the tie securing his brown hair. Slowly, he gained what one might consider an acceptable level of consciousness, only to groan and thump his head softly against his desk. “Dammit,” he muttered, bending to gather the papers he’d scattered. His brown tie promptly slipped out of the knot it had before only loosely conformed to, falling to the ground. Without the tie to obstruct one’s view of it, the coffee stain just under the collar of white shirt (Tilda could be very hyperactive and sometimes her determination to hug him despite whatever was in his hands was almost admirable) was completely exposed and now, even with the black dress pants, he just looked sloppy.

It wasn’t like he _tried_ to dream about ‘Thranduil’. It was probably some kind of fairytale he had heard when he was little, warped so that it fit in his now-adult mind. For awhile, he had been rather excited about the dreams. The world his subconsciousness had seemingly created was so thorough, so intricate. Unfortunately, whenever he tried to put the words onto paper (figuratively and on a screen, of course; he refused to use anything except Microsoft Word) he couldn’t help the feeling that settled in the pit of his stomach. It just… it wasn’t quite right. It felt like he was ripping off some big franchise, and more importantly, it felt like he was chronicling his life from the first conscious moment.

It wasn’t right and it wasn’t true; Bard knew that much. His therapist had eventually decided that he had improved enough, and that was enough. Even if he still had the dreams, it’s not like he believed the fantasy. Which was enough, of course. He closed his eyes and settled in memory. Actual memory. Not incorrectly-appropriated dreams.

 

_“Bard!”_

_The eight-year-old jerked awake and his cheeks burned red as he realized the entire classroom was focusing on him. “Bard?” the teacher asked, a little softer. “Did you get enough sleep?”_

_He nodded furiously, sure that his face couldn’t flush any further but being inevitably proven wrong. “Yeah! I just wanted to see what I did when I was little!”_

_The phrasing was a bit odd; anybody would have been able to say that much. The teacher hummed disapprovingly. “Oh?”_

_“Yeah! I was playing with the neighbor! He’s nice! Snuck me out of the castle and taught me to shoot a bow and arrow.”_

_The teacher made a note on a post-it, rolling her eyes and going back to teaching. Nothing happened until the next parent-teacher meeting._

_“Bard,” his father had said, unsure. “We don’t have any neighbors. We never have.”_

 

Groaning, Bard rubbed his temples. Yes, though they hadn’t always, the presence of these illusions most certainly bugged him now. If these goddamn dreams would just _leave him alone_ , that would be great. He sighed and shuffled a stack of papers into his hands, tapping them sharply on the desk a few times to straighten them out and sliding them into the desk drawer. Someone rapped sharply on the door. After a brief check to make sure his hair didn’t resemble a bird’s nest, (or at least, any more so than usual) he stifled a yawn and called, “Come in!” to the shadowy figure on the other side of the frosted glass. A moment of silence, and then the doorknob turned. The door swung open to reveal his boss- harried as ever- and _his son_.

“Bain!” Bard cried, leaping to his feet. “What on earth are you doing here!?”

Bain sniffled slightly, his eyes red-rimmed. “Tilda fell down the stairs and Sigrid says that she knows what to do but I don’t think she does-”

“I’m on it.” Bard practically surged to his feet and scattering the forms which had been forgotten on his lap. He glanced down at the flying papers with a groan of dismay. “Gods, I’m sorry.”

His boss laughed, waving his hand dismissively. “It’s fine, Bard. You’ve been ahead on everything for a while now, I’ll file you as ‘sick.’” Percy winked and Bard allowed a sigh of relief and a grateful nod.

“Thanks!” he called, towards the other man’s retreating back.

A faint, “No problemo!” drifted in from the hallway and Bard stepped around the mess on the floor. Bain rushed into his arms and Bard forced a laugh.

“Bain! It’s okay, if Sigrid didn’t call me, I don’t think it’s too serious!”

Bain shook his head resolutely. “Mrs. Warner in health said that internal injuries are the most dangerous and it’s why we wear seatbelts and if she stopped suddenly when she landed then that hurt her and there was an in-internal inju-”

“Okay!” Bard rubbed Bin’s shoulder’s and his son withdrew. “That’s enough.” If Bard had told Bain to stop ranting partially because he didn’t want his son to freak himself out any further, and partially so that he didn’t freak out his father, well, that was Bard’s business.

It was times like these that he wished that, by some miracle of god, he had chosen to bring his car to work. One of the main reasons that he had selected this particular job was because it resided within relative walking distance from his home, and he thusly found it unnecessary to waste gas on the commute.

“You able to run right now? You can always walk back,” proposed Bard.

“Yeah.” The boy grabbed his father’s coat from the office chair without being prompted.

They hurried down the stairs, ignoring the half-hearted farewell from the new intern and practically flying out of the door. The two tried to start out with a rapid, measured walk, but the movement quickly devolved into jogging. Bard tried to regulate his steps, knowing that Bain would likely appreciate his effort.

“Okay,” he muttered, under his breath. Maybe he was trying to soothe his son or maybe the verbalism was to soothe himself. Either way, nobody needed to know.

Several blocks passed and Bard glanced behind him to see that Bain’s face was a little flushed. Though both of the them were panting, Bain’s pants were more than audible. Bard slowed down a little only to have Bain push ahead stubbornly, not slowing his pace. Bard rolled his eyes, inhaled deeply, and followed.

A while later, he neared the driveway to see Sigrid ushering Tilda out the door. Bard ran up to them, breathing a bit more heavily than he would have liked, and swore softly upon seeing that his youngest daughter’s cheeks were tear-tracked; it was a sign of how serious the situation was that Bain didn’t tease or childishly reprimand him for doing so.

“Tilda!” She glanced up and tears began to well anew as she wailed. The man hurried to his daughter and let her cling to his one shirt- his one good one too, he later reflected- to muffle her sobs. “Are you okay, sweetie?” She nodded, pursing her lips and fixing her gaze on the ground, her sobs now soundless and only shaking her shoulders ever so slightly. After double checking that she wasn’t writhing in agony, he turned to Sigrid.

“Sig! What the hell happened!?”

His daughter recoiled at the harsh tone, but he was too busy trying to console Tilda to apologize.

“She said that she wanted to be like some other kid-”

“Leggy!” Tilda firmly inserted, her lower lip trembling despite her apparent confidence. “And he’s not a kid! He’s-”

“Hush, Tilda,” Sigrid shot her younger sister a glare, “‘ _Leggy_ ’, then. She thought that she would be able to land on the old chandelier if she jumped off the stairs.”

The instant Bard’s oldest daughter finished her explanation, Tilda began crying again. Bard could just make out, over her sobs, ‘he did it with Da’s plow!’. Bard sighed, shaking his sleeve out so that it covered his hand and using it to delicately dab Tilda’s eyes. She sniffled. Tilda was far past the age appropriate to play privy to imaginary friends; he wouldn’t be able to afford a therapist and would just have to do his best on his own.

“I’m sorry, Til. But sometimes, people just can’t do things.” It was a hopeless explanation, but Tilda was still young enough that she wouldn’t realise that.

After a quick examination, Bard saw Tilda had only rolled her ankle and he stood up.

“I think you’re good now, Tilda,” he grinned ruefully. “Sorry, Sig.” Sigrid rolled her eyes. Bard, having known her for long enough, knew that she had nonverbally forgiven him and he chuckled.

“How ‘bout we make some dinner?”

He was met from cheers from his two youngest, and a smile from his eldest.

 

* * * * * * *

 

_“Legolas!” Tilda wailed, reaching for the taller elf as he ran by laughing, the blonde hair so much like his father’s dancing in the warm summer breeze. “That’s not fair!” Obligingly, Legolas slowed. Tilda threw herself at his leg, wrapping her much shorter ones around his ankle. The elf went down with an ‘oomph!’ of complaint and Bard chuckled from in the shade. Bain grumbled from beside him, glancing up from his carving to criticize the childish game. Bard would have reprimanded him, had he believed that his son meant it in any malicious context; the lazy smile on Bain’s face told Bard that he most certainly hadn’t._

_“Carving again?” Thranduil’s breath ghosted over Bard’s ear, and the man started, nearly impaling himself on the small sword he had etched. He glanced up sheepishly and the elvenking chuckled._

_“Possibly.”_

_Thranduil laughed and plopped himself down in the grass, watching as Sigrid hurried to ‘rescue’ her sister from Legolas’s merciless tickling fingers. Much to Bard’s gratitude, Thranduil produced a bottle of wine, uncorking it and chuckling at the face Bard made at the smell. The elvenking took a swig and passed it to Bard, who did the same._

_“Can I have some?”_

_Bard cursed and the wine bottle jerked dangerously, the dark liquid almost slopping over the rim. “Maybe later, Bain,” he said, rolling his eyes and trying to regain any shred of regality. Judging by Thranduil’s snickers, he was failing miserably. With a quiet huff, he turned his gaze back towards the horizon, smiling at the progress he saw; at this rate, Dale would be up and running again within the month. Thranduil nudged him._

_“Hmm?”_

_“I do believe that I told you that you would make a great king. Guess who was right?” Thranduil winked. Bard laughed and leaned back against the elf._

_“Love you, Thranduil,” he murmured, allowing his eyes to drift shut._

 

Bard awoke with a smile on his face and confusion in his eyes. That was… new. Never before had Bain or Sigrid been with him. On one occasion, Thranduil had mentioned Tilda, though. The man groaned and got out of bed, his ritualistic stretching accompanied with the cracking of joints and an enormous yawn. Bard did his best to forget about the dream, like normal, dropping his arms and rolling his shoulders while humming in satisfaction. Stumbling the the wardrobe, he cast the cloth-strewn floor an annoyed glance. He’d have to do something hellish soon: _laundry_.

His wardrobe was annoyingly bare and he eventually donned a pair of navy blue pants and the white dress shirt he had been avoiding for weeks. It wasn’t too bad, Bard decided, throwing on a jacket matching his pants in effort to make the whole ensemble look better. To put on his socks, he sat down on the floor, shuffling through his sock-drawer for a good several minutes before coming across a suitable pair. Finally, he stumbled to the bathroom.

His hairbrush only did the bare minimum but he was too tired to do any combing.

“Da!” Tilda burst into his room with an excited shout, twirling in her neon green pajamas. “School’s cancelled!”

Bard froze in the process of tying his shoes. “Oh?”

“Yep! Sig says that there’s some kind of curuclum review!”

“Curriculum,” Bard corrected. “And sweets, chances are, it’s only for her school.”

Tilda drooped. “Oh.” Bard went back to tying his shoes. When he glanced up, Tilda was still standing in the doorway, pouting, quivering bottom-lip and all. Bard sighed.

“Look, honey, we’ll ask Sigrid, but I can’t promise anything, alright?” Tilda perked up at once, and she nodded eagerly.

They went downstairs to ask, Tilda practically bouncing, and found Sigrid laying on the couch, a laptop on her lap as per the usual. “Sig!” Tilda called, tearing over to her sister.

“Mhm?”

“What’s the school cancelling thing for?” Tilda asked. “Is it just for yours?”

Sigrid laugh. “Chill, Tilda! It’s for the district.” Finally, she looked up at Bard. “Erm… Da? Finn asked if I could go to the park with everybody? The one a couple blocks down?”

 _Ah._ Bard realized what was happening at once. _This_ was the moment that he had waited his entire life, the one moment that he has aspired to influence. He frowned, almost bringing up his finger to stroke his chin before realizing that the universal gesture of pondering would be too cheesy. “Finn? The one that rides his skateboard everywhere?”

Sigrid’s eyes widened. “No, that’s Kilian, his brother!”

“Don’t they _both_ ride their skateboards everywhere?” Sigrid shook her head vigorously, and Bard sighed. “Sig….. I don’t think… sorry but... sure.” Sigrid’s head snapped up, and she gaped at Bard’s grin.

“You… you…” she sputtered for a few moments. Bard did his best rendition of a ‘who, me?’ face and winked at his oldest daughter.

“I what?”

Sigrid sighed, smiling in what appeared to be relief. “Nevermind. Maybe you should let Bain sleep in? He was shooting for another pointless all-nighter last night.”

Bard nodded and groaned at the reminder of his son’s antics. The ten-year-old seemed to think it a good idea to force himself to function on four hours of sleep or less. He had yet to pull a sleepless forty-eight hours. Despite the discouraging that Bard offered, Bain persevered.

After scribbling out a note explaining the school cancellation, Bard taped it to the inside of Bain’s door and sent a glance at his sleeping son. The boy was sprawled over a hardcover Harry Potter book, the paper pressing a crease into his cheek. It’d probably be red for hours. Bard sighed and retrieved the book as cautiously as he could manage, wiggling it out of Bain’s lax hands and dog-earing the page. Page 394, to be exact; Bard almost laughed out loud,  muttering a: ‘page three hundred and ninety- _fourrr_ ,’ under his breath. He set the book down on his cluttered nightstand, added a ‘and clean your room ASAP’ underneath the ‘school’s cancelled: I’m at work if you need me’ on the note taped to his door, and left the room.

Downstairs, he found Tilda at the table, singing happily to her cereal box ad she mashed the chex-mix, having changed into a pair of jeans and a yellow T-shirt. When she saw her da, she turned a bright red and stopped singing. Bard laughed and kissed her forehead, foregoing to opportunity to tease and retrieving a mug. They waited in silence for a few moments, and then Tilda began to hum again. By the time that she was full-out belting a song, the light had turned green and Bard put his mug under so that it could fill. He was already sipping from it by the time that Tilda made her exclamation.

“Da!” Tilda protested, sounding affronted. Bard shot her a raised eyebrow, and she pointed at the mug. “You’re using mine!”

Bard looked down and chuckled. Sure enough, it was the tweety-bird mug. “Sorry, Til,” he said, pouring it into his own mug.

“Wash it.”

Bard rolled his eyes, but Tilda remained steadfast. “I don’t wanna taste coffee when I make tea.”

After rinsing out the patterned ceramic to Tilda’s satisfaction, Bard lifted his own ‘Dragonslayer’ (a joke from college) mug to his lips. His daughter nodded, pleased, and ferried her cereal bowl to the sink.

“Can I come with you to work?” she asked. Bard nearly sprayed coffee everywhere. Instead, he took an enormous sip of liquid, practically scalding the entirety of his throat as he tried to delay the question.

“Til… the last time you went… we still haven’t found all of the paper clips.” Tilda didn’t seem impressed. “ _Or_ the staples,” Bard stressed.

Tilda groaned. “I was _seven!_ You left me alone for like, an _hour!_ ”

“Five minutes,” Bard corrected. Tilda ignored the reply.

“Besides. I’m eight now,” the girl declared. Tilda pouted.

“Just this once,” he conceded. “And you need to stay in the office with me.”

Tilda cheered, flying to her green and blue rainboots. “Wear sneakers!” Bard said. Tilda sighed, but changed into her sneakers, apparently counting the shoes as a necessary sacrifice.

 

It wasn’t too long after that Bard’s used car pulled into the parking lot. Normally, he wouldn’t have bothered driving, gas prices being what they were. Today, however, he would take the car if only to ensure the Tilda’s ankle was stressed as little as possible.

The car lot wasn’t too full and he snagged a place close to the entry without much issue. Tilda leaped out of the backseat and Bard barely had the time lock the door before he had to run after her. Perhaps stressing her ankle wasn’t something that he should have worried about.

Thank the Gods, the collective office seemed to have fallen in love with Tilda. Bard left her when Wendy (the particularly enamoured secretary) took it upon herself to show her around. Bard managed to get a good amount of work done before Tilda tromped in, a cupcake in her hand and a smile on her face. _No wonder she wanted to visit._ Bard resumed his work at the computer, and Tilda clambered onto his knee, smushing the man’s face with her cupcake in the process. He wiped the white frosting off of his face and ate it, smiling at Tilda’s exaggerated ‘yuck!’

They fell into a comfortable pattern, Bard tapping away at the keyboard and Tilda drawing in the margins of his printed drafts. Just as they were getting together their things to go out to lunch, Bard’s office door burst open.

_‘Da!’ Bain wailed, running through the hanging deerskin that separated the kitchen from the living room. His eyes were wide, panicked. ‘Smaug’s here!’_

Bard shook off the memory- _not a memory_ , he reminded himself.

“-here!” Percy was saying. Bard tensed.

“What?” he asked.

Percy groaned loudly and his eyes darted around the small workspace. His hands twitched as if he wanted to clean off the many paper-littered surfaces. “I can’t believe you! Opherson’s here! Y’know? The entrepreneur from Europe!? The one who might _give us a loan!?_ ”

“Sh-oot!” Bard said, almost swearing before belatedly realizing that Tilda was still in the room. He flew to shove mismatched files back into their cabinets as Percy jabbered on excitedly.

“It’s crazy! I mean, when he started the business, he was a little name. I mean, everyone still doesn’t even know where he came from! He just, like, rose out of the cracks to start this new thing! And Bard, he’s famous for _not making a single mistake!!!_ It’s like he already knows JUST how everything works! He curries favors like they’re currency! Imagine what it would do to our name if he chose us!”

 

_“The Elvenking,” Bard’s father murmured. Bard shot the taller man a questioning glance, and Raul laughed, swinging up his son up to his shoulders. The young boy squealed in delight and clutched the leather of Raul’s royal vest while the townspeople hid smiles at their prince’s and his son’s antics. The duo might not be the center of attention, but they were certainly the gossip of Laketown. Even despite the fact that the elvenking and their own king were currently announcing a trade agreement, Raul continued to remain ever the crowd-pleaser. Even despite the fact that Smaug had wrecked Dale._

_“Who’s the Elvenking, Da?” asked Bard. The nearest advisor cooed at his obliviousness to the world of politics. Oh sweet innocence._

_Bard’s father hummed, and motioned towards the tall, ethereal creature standing behind Girion on the pedestal. He wore robes of shimmering silver, robes that draped around him and looked, quite honestly, like they would be a heap of fun to dance in. And his_ hair _! Bard silently marveled at the waterfall of white. His hair fell down his back like water, swishing at the slightest movement and glinting in the early-morning sunlight. The elvenking’s thick eyebrows expressed no emotion, but his light blue eyes danced beneath them. ‘Were they_ sparkling _!?’ Bard leaned forward to check but his father pulled him back before he could topple. A smile pulled at the edge of the elvenking’s lips as if he knew what was happening to the left of him._

_As Bard watched, another elf, a younger one, approached the Elvenking. This one’s hair glinted like gold. The Elvenking glanced over and pulled the child (‘teen?’ Bard wondered briefly) to his side, wrapping an arm around his shoulder as if in pride. The younger elf seemed to glow with happiness._

_A ring glinted from a flagstone several paces away and drew Bard’s eyes, distracting him. The child frowned. The twisting silver looked awfully like… his gaze traced to the jewelry adorning the Elvenking’s hands. Two bracelets. One ring. One ring that looked pretty similar… maybe more that similar…_

_Bard squirmed and Raul let him down, now focused on his father’s speech. Bard hurried over to the ring and plucked it from the ground. When he held it up to the light, he could see that they did indeed match with the elf’s ring, and he hurried over to the Elvenking immediately._

_“Sir?” he pulled on the silvery robe, and Raul, who had only just then noticed, made as if to step forwards. The Elvenking glanced down and raised an eyebrow at the little boy._

_“Yes?”_

_The town-square went deathly silent but Bard didn’t notice, only grinning at the tall elf and holding the silver ring aloft with grimy fingers. “I think you dropped this!” he chirped. The Elvenking chuckled and accepted it with a smile._

_“Thank you… Bard?” the Elvenking glanced towards Girion for confirmation, and the boy’s grandfather nodded. “Thank you, Bard,” The elf reaffirmed. Bard sketched a clumsy bow and bounced back to his father._

_Halfway through Girion’s speech, the Elvenking shot Bard a playful wink, making him giggle. Bard tried his best to wink back, and failed epically._

 

“Sorry,” Bard groaned, realizing that he had been lost in… memory? Dream? Whatever. Today was full of firsts, as it seemed: he had never before pictured anything when he was that young. Percy huffed, but seemed too excited for anything to truly phase him.

“S’okay, Bard. Point is: he’s coming here in like,” the man shot a glance at his watch, “any minute! He told us that he wanted his son to see how a ‘dependable business’ was ran, so we get to host both of them! A ‘dependable business’, did you hear!?”

Bard nodded, rubbing at his temples. “Great,” he choked out.

 

_“Legolas?”_

_The elf’s body jolted upright, his chest visibly rising and falling, his scream cutting off as abruptly as it had begun._

_“Legolas!”_ _Bard was at the elf’s side in an instant. “Are you okay?”_

_The elf shook his head vigorously, before falling back onto the bed with a low whine._

_“The war still got you?”_

_“Yes,” said Legolas, his voice strained and week. “I... Elbereth… they just kept coming, didn’t they?”_

_“Not anymore,” Bard said, not sure how else to comfort Legolas. “You did well. You did what you could.”_

_Legolas nodded, his breaths already slowing. Bard stayed there, perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed. They didn’t talk. Just as Bard was making to leave, a hand grabbed his arm._

_“Stay?” Legolas asked. His voice was thick with sleep, and his eyes were still half-glazed. Bard nodded, and scooted closer, beginning to rub circles into Legolas’s tense shoulder. The elf hummed in thanks and they both drifted off into sleep._

 

The door behind Percy opened. The young man that walked through it looked too familiar. Golden blond hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail, and his crisp, dark green business suit emphasized his lithe form. The male didn’t look any older than his late teens, but he looked somehow out of place. He was looking over his shoulder, and his blue eyes laughed as he replied to something that Bard couldn’t quite catch. _Legolas_.

It was finally happening. He was finally delusional. But Percy was beaming at “Legolas”. Legolas was real. What was happening? Beside him, Tilda let out an excited shriek and darted forwards.

“Legolas!”

The man (or perhaps elf?) turned around at once, and he laughed in… delight? Shock? He swept Tilda off her feet and spun her around in the air. His eyes shone, and the look of exhilarated disbelief on Legolas’s face couldn’t have been faked.‘ _Oh Gods. She jumped off the stairs trying to be like ‘Leggy’. She always called Legolas that in my... dreams? Memories? ’_

“Ada!” Legolas shouted. The elf’s father didn’t seem to need seem to need anymore prompting, for the next thing that Bard knew, _Thranduil_ stood in the doorway. His platinum hair still swaying at the abruptness of the elf’s rush, Thranduil’s mouth dropped into a perfect ‘O’ and his blue eyes widened. Bard felt as if two world were merging. In front of him stood Thranduil, ethereal in this world, and seeming so foreign that it wasn’t hard to believe that he had once ruled an elven kingdom. Even though he wore no cloak, rather, a light gray business suit and black Oxfords, he looked as resplendent as ever. This was Thranduil. This was King Thranduil, ruler of Mirkwood. ‘ _Oh Gods.’_

“Bard.” Thranduil’s voice was soft, and he too appeared as if he had just woken up from a dream. “Oh Eru, _Bard_.”

“Thranduil.”

‘ _I knew you were something more. I knew that you were real.’_

They met in the middle of the room. Bard didn’t know if they walked, or skipped, or ran, or- Hell. Maybe they’d just appeared there. “Gods, Thranduil.”

Thranduil sighed and, so gently that Bard felt that he could burst, he cradled the man’s face in his hands. “Bard. I’ve been looking for you for _Elbereth,_ ” he seemed to choke on the exclamation, “forever.” Their foreheads touched but Bard’s eyes didn’t close. He couldn’t stop drinking in the image of the one that he had loved for too long. The one that seemed to be quite real after all. _‘What’s happening? What.. what?’_

“I…” Bard felt a sob rise in his throat. “ _Thranduil_ . Oh, thank… thank…” he trailed off and flung his arms around the elf, pulling him closer and kissing him. ‘ _Oh, Gods.’_

They broke apart, dizzy, not by the need for oxygen but by the want to bask in the calm presence of the other. Behind Thranduil, Legolas chuckled and stepped forwards to embrace Bard while Tilda latched on to Thranduil’s leg with a beam.

Bard sobbed for real when Legolas pulled him into a hug. His ‘son’ was solid, and alive, and real, and present.

Tilda left Thranduil to demand another hug from her ‘brother’ and then Bard practically flung himself back at the king.

To the side, Percy cleared his throat and his: ‘I didn’t know you lot were so closely acquainted,’ trailed off. Bard hardly noticed his boss shuffling out of the room- likely to get a drink- unable to register anything other than the elvenking’s warm embrace.

“I’ll never let you go,” Thranduil murmured. Bard laughed wetly.

“Even if I’m still drowning in memories?” he teased.

“If you’re drowning, I’ll jump in after you.”

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  Okay, that was cheesy as hell but I did warn you in the tags. If you liked this, please take the time to leave me a comment or kudos!!!  
>   
> This is part of a minibang meaning..... FANART!!!!!! WOOHOOOOO!!!!!
> 
>   * [Barduil Mini Bang - Art for Erudammit’s ‘Drowning in Dreams’](http://homeiswheretheheartsare.tumblr.com/image/161910749475) by [homeiswheretheheartsare](http://homeiswheretheheartsare.tumblr.com)  
> 
>   * [ Art for 'Drowning in Dreams' ](https://68.media.tumblr.com/eb07a71e2af9f8254e3619857344238a/tumblr_ortu4gpbwn1uv2l8io1_1280.png) by [piyo-13](piyo-13.tumblr.com)
>   
>  My tumblr is [erudammit](http://www.erudammit.tumblr.com)  
>    
>  Come be strange with me  
>    
>  It shall be fun  
>  



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